


Book Lovers

by Queerapika



Category: Shiritsu Horitsuba Gakuen
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, SyaoYuui
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerapika/pseuds/Queerapika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>publishing company AU, in which Syaoron and Yuui are both book nerds beyond hope</p><p>written for the prompt:<br/>'Imagine your OTP meeting for the first time ever, just by a glance, and person A thinking that person B was the most perfect thing they had ever laid eyes on. Person A was never able to work up the courage to talk to person B until they found out that they’re actually co-workers, and person B is the one to approach first with  ”Hey, haven’t I seen you before?”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Book Lovers

_When you read this letter, you will much likely start to wonder why._

_Why am I telling you this story? And why did I choose to write it down?_

_The simplest answer would be 'because I had to'. Because this is not the story of how we met, this is the story of how I got to know you, of how important you became to me and I have been haunted by the urge to tell you for quite some time. So make no mistake – I wrote it for me and if you actually hold these lines in your hands it's because I decided in a sudden moment of bravery to give them to you._

_I probably already regret my decision._

 

_The first thing I noticed about you, sad but true, were your shoes. They must have been quite new, all polished black leather, the shoes of a business man - and they squeaked at every step, which I really couldn’t have. Sadly, we were in a book store and not a library so there was no disapproving librarian and no one but me to tell you to piss off with your noisy shoes. From my comfortable little reading corner I stared at them with malice - as if scowling could make them apologetic and less noisy - and was just about to open my mouth and say something, when my eyes trailed upwards and… caught the most flawless human being I have ever seen._

__ You__ _. _

_A grown up man in front of the fantasy shelves, standing on his tiptoes to reach for one of the upper books while balancing a thick volume in the crook of his left arm. You wore gray pants, a plain white buttoned shirt under a black silk vest… just when I thought that no one would actually dress like Patrick Jane in real life you had to prove me wrong. Your fingers closed around the book you so desperately tried to get and when you finally had it in your hand, you turned around with a smile and I recognized you._

_Granted, we had never met before, but I knew you right then and there. For your smile, lovely and enticing and fond all at once, told me that you were like me. Which is a joke, really, for we are nothing alike and if we had not shared the same passion, we would not have met that day._

_You were,_ __ are _ _ __,_ _ _a book lover. Let a random person pick a book and he or she will muster it with a curious or skeptical expression and examine the cover first, then the summary at the back. A book lover usually knows the books they are reaching out for, they choose the story just like the story chooses them, they regards the book with a loving smile like a father might look at his children. The look that says ‘I am not sure what you will be, but I will love you nonetheless’. I think I fell in love with you that very moment, even before I noticed which book you picked._

 _You sat down in one of the comfy leather armchairs nearby and if you had looked up, you would have seen me - not that I was much to look at. But you were too happy and excited for your book; you placed the thicker volume in your lap and started reading your little paperback right away. It was then that I lost my senses because what you held in that delicate hands of yours was '_ __One of Our Thursdays Is Missing'_ _ _. And there I was, tempted to raise my own lecture up to an unnatural reading angle because everyone who has a little bit of taste knows that people who read Jasper Fforde are marriage material and I was holding '_ __The Song of the Quarkbeast'_ _ _, so we were book buddies in a way. I wanted to connect with you very, very badly._

_I could have said something. I'm not shy at all, and I usually have no problem to talk to anyone but beauty is an intimidating thing and you looked so graceful in your formal clothes, even while reading, turning every page with care, twirling one of your blond strands around your finger and occasionally brushing your bangs out of your face, never minding that they slipped right back. You were like a fairy tale prince, fair haired and rosy cheeked with eyes as clear as a brook in spring and I was just a rude little punk with worn-out shoes, a hoodie that had 'Bazinga' printed right over my chest and super-nerdy glasses that I had been wearing before it became fashionable because I fucking needed them. So even if I hadn't had a boyfriend at home and even if I hadn't noticed the silver ring on your finger, I would not have made a move because it was so obvious that we were separated by more than just the space between our armchairs._

_But I really wanted to talk to you. In the end, I did not because I liked you and I can be very rude so I figured it was best to remain silent. I kept on reading but my mind could no longer focus on the words. And when I looked up, our eyes met because you were staring at me. You offered me a warm smile and I looked down. Making an attempt to read the title of the tome in your lap (something French that I didn't understand) until it dawned me that you might as well think I was staring at your crotch._

_It was time for me to stand up and pay for my books._

 

_I saw you again, several weeks later. Martin, one of my colleagues, called in sick and as the only other intern in this certain department of the publishing company, I had to do most of his work as well. While I reviewed neglected manuscripts and filled out forms for the author with advice to improve, Martin was more of a secretary, answering phone calls and mails and transporting manuscripts between different departments. So that particular morning I had a stack of manuscripts to deliver to the audiobook section. The woman at the reception send me to the little kitchenette that served as the break room and there you were, drinking tea and chatting amiably with one of your co-workers or superiors._

_Curse my luck._

_I was frozen to the spot but thank god your boss was a peach, inviting me in, calling me 'son' for no obvious reason and offering me a coffee before I could say no. I was hoping that you would look over and try to talk to me and at the same time I was hoping you wouldn't. I didn't want you to remember me if that memory contained the description 'rude little punk who ogled at me in public'. So I chatted with Ben, your boss, or should I rather say that he investigated me? He was as noisy as he was cheerful and just when he asked me what kind of underwear I was wearing, you laughed and said that I had to excuse his behavior but Ben was looking for a nice son in law and tested any young man for his qualities._

“ _I'm in a relationship,” I explained matter-of-factly to no one in particular and Ben just laughed very loud and patted his huge hand against my back._

“ _I know, son. Martin told me a thing or two about you. But if you ever break up with your boyfriend, let me know because I got a feeling my Alan would like you.”_

_(Well, fuck you Martin for using my private life as gossip material.)_

_I wanted to find a nice hole in the ground to hide in, like a rabbit. And it was about to get even worse. During our little conversation almost every one else had finished their morning coffee or tea and when Ben went off with the manuscripts, it was only you and me. And you were still looking absolutely perfect (no vest this time, but an elegant slim tie), while I was a mess._

_You helped yourself to another cup of tea and waved your mug in my direction. (I may not have memorized every word you said, so I apologize if you remember this differently. If you do, we need to have a talk about this because these are memories that are important to me and I'd like to get them straight.)_

_You said: “Excuse me if I have to be rude, but... haven't we met before?”_

“ _No,” I said, because no, you were anything but rude and also I didn't want you to know that I had a hard time getting you out if my head lately, when I wasn't with my boyfriend._

_Your brows furrowed. You leaned against the kitchenette counter (were you even aware how much you showed off your ass with that?) and blew on your steaming tea. “Bazinga!” you said._

_I thought that was pretty much the lamest joke I ever heard... and then it occurred to me that you hadn't said it because you meant it._

“ _You were wearing a green hooded sweater with the word Bazinga on it. That was at the Thalia bookstore. And you've been reading a book from Fforde's 'Last Dragonslayer' series.”_

_I loved that you remembered my book just like you remembered my sweater._

_And I mumbled: “Oh, right. I remember. You had a huge French book and the latest Thursday Next.”_

_Your whole face lightened up and I think I died a little. But it was a good death. The kind where your heart stops just long enough to cause this aching in your chest and just as you draw in your next breath, it jumps back to live._

“ _Hey... you're not by any chance interested in joining a book circle, huh? Because a friend of mine recommended me one that meets every two weeks not far from here but apparently the whole group consists of women so I've been looking for another guy to go with me.”_

_I chuckled and crossed my arms before my chest, leaning back in a manner that I hoped was cool. “Wow, seems I'm really popular today.”_

“ _The curse of the nice ones.”_

_I hate to break it to you, but... I don't like book circles. The idea of letting a majority choose the book one is supposed to read and then sit together to politely and intellectually discuss it is just laughable. On one hand, 90 percent of the people who read have a shitty taste in books. And having to deal with those people and explain them why the book they chose is so shitty without telling them that their taste in books sucks requires a certain amount of diplomatic skill (which I possessed) and an even greater amount of energy and nerves (which I possessed not)._

“ _Well, count me in!”, I heard myself say, making a sacrifice for the sake of spending a little time with you. But you should know that with you, attending reading circles was less shitty._

_We became friends at a ballistic rate. I was looking forward to the times you visited my place, whenever you needed to 'catch up with your reading', (which was is a nice way to say that you just asked for a summary of the parts you've missed but I was quite fond of being needed so I always forgave you for that). And on top of that, you and Ryuuou got along with each other just fine because you two were quite the talkative lot and I must admit seeing you handle my boyfriend way better than I was, made me envious. Just another proof that you were more sociable, more adapted, more mainstream than I would ever be – and only when it comes to you would I use the term mainstream as a praise, would I define it as 'pleasing for a majority of people'._

_You were like a star, casting your light on everyone and at the same time untouchable. But the more I watched you from afar, the more I wanted to touch you._

_Oh, I didn't want to get in your pants, that was not what I meant. (Please don't freak out about it, okay? I know this can be a scary thought.) Well, maybe back then when I saw you for the first time, I can't deny that you turned me on, but when we became friends I respected you too much as a person to regard you merely as sex on legs. And that it was not just your physique that appealed to me but the way your voice sounded when you were reading and how much thought you put into all of your actions, how much you cared for people... and I wanted to be the same for you. I wanted you to see everything of me and I wanted you to like everything you saw._

_What I craved for was a connection that went deeper than any bond I ever shared with anyone, including my own twin brother and Ryuuou._

_But what if I displeased you? What if, deep in my heart I was the sort of person you disliked the most? I was well aware of my own flaws, that I could be ignorant and proud and way to full of myself and if I let you see all of this, what would you think of me?_

_Ryuuou was never bothered; he smiled at my selfishness and none of my brooding could darken his cheer. Thus, I was never forced nor motivated to change. It was you who made me want to change._

_I did, what I had to do, the only thing that made sense. I broke up with my boyfriend._

_It was not for the sake of being “free for you” - I have little hope that we will be more than friends - it was for Ryuuou, who is a nice guy, one of the best and who deserves a partner that cared as much for him as I care for you. The break-up was amiably; no loud and nasty words, no fuss made, no tear shed. In less than two weeks all of his stuff was packed and gone and I was alone with my books and the constant thoughts about you._

_Until, about six months after we first met, you asked me a question._

_I was single. You had gone through a nasty divorce although you were trying to play it down (that's what I assumed since the office gossip and your report differed a lot), but you had stopped wearing you wedding band, which was a good sign that you were over it. You were over it and we were fairly close, considering that I could call you in the middle of the night, without even saying hello and just start ranting away about the shittiest pile of words that had ever escaped an author's mind, so excuse me that when you took me aside and told me you needed to talk to me about something personal, I thought it would be a big deal and somewhat more romantic. I mean, you were flustered. The way you said my name and how you apologized forehand for being bold- how was I supposed not to think you'd ask me out?_

_(And you had no idea how badly I wanted you to be bold, in those moments when I could not be content with just being your friend. Moments when I wondered – sorry for the inappropriateness of my thoughts – how amazing you would look sprawled out on my bed, naked, with only one frilly cushion to cover up your naughty bits. I had little faith in me making the right move that would lead to that, so I chose not to make a move at all.)_

_I think this is all the information you need to understand how cruelly you crushed my hopes, when you asked me if you could move into my apartment. Become my flatmate._

_I admit, I acted a bit grumpy. I admit that._

_But you were a darling, just as always, maybe a little confused but patient with me, giving me time to think this through. And in the end I said yes because I could never refuse you and the possibility of seeing you in the morning when your hair was all weird from sleeping and and just sharing these boring every day things with you was too good to miss even if it would be painful._

_(I think I can skim this part a little, right? Since we have both been there.)_

_I want to say I am glad I made that decision. Glad for every morning that I got to wake you because you never get up in time, glad for the meals you cooked, the laughter we shared. Glad that you told me that there was a time in your life when you didn't love yourself and when you showed me the scars on your arm to prove it, two straight lines on your beautiful skin, almost following the path of your veins. I never asked you if looking at it bothered you. Maybe I should have. But I was adamant to give it a happier meaning, which was why I asked you to let me write on it._ __My words, along with the proof of your adolescent mistake would be hidden by the long sleeves of your shirt, but we would both know they were there. I_ _ _drew them carefully with a ballpoint pen, hoping that that way a part of me could stay with you and chase off the random moments of loneliness you were experiencing._

_In short, I wanted to be your lucky charm._

 

__It’s been 365 days since we started living side by side, almost together but not quite. You know all of my secrets safe for one. And I’m sorry that it took me so long to write it down._ _

__I love you._ _

__I’ve always loved you._ _

__And I could now tell you that I would be fine if you don’t feel the same way, but let’s be realistic: I wouldn’t be okay for quite some time. So, to spare us the awkward and uncomfortable moment of turning me down, just burn this letter and let us pretend that I never wrote it._ _

__(Unless, of course, you feel the same way as I do; in that case you are free to invade my bedroom any time you want.)_ _

 

_Sincerely yours,_

_The fool you live with._

 

~*+*~

Syaoron took the opportunity to do some extra paperwork, to make sure he would arrive at home later than his blond flatmate. He had slipped the letter under Yuui's door, right before he went to work, had even chosen a Tuesday for the transaction because on Tuesday mornings, Yuui could sleep a little longer.

He could tell that Yuui was distressed as soon as he opened the apartment door. The older man was rummaging in the kitchen; rearranging spices and checking the cupboards for expired groceries.

“I'm home,” the brunet called out.

Despite everything, Yuui turned his face (arms still busy with the cupboard) to greet Syaoron with a warm smile, just like he always did. “You're late.”

“I suppose.” Syaoron left his office bag on a kitchen stool and took off his jacket, leaving it draped over the backrest.

“Oh, and I'm through with Death in Venice.”

Yuui had turned up the sleeves of his shirt, Syaoron noticed. He only ever did that when he was washing the dishes. Even at home, he seemed not entirely comfortable to show his scars.

“Wait a second, you can have it back-”

“It's fine, Yuui, you don't have to give it to me _now_ ,” Syaoron replied absent-minded, eyes scanning the small room for ashes and flakes of burnt paper; any proof that Yuui had read and destroyed the letter. The man in question retrieved the book from the kitchen table and handed it to his younger flatmate. He held the book flat in this left hand which Syaoron thought quite odd until dark letters on pale skin caught his attention. Letter with beautiful loops that didn't look like Syaoron's own handwriting at all.

'I love you too' they said.

“Syaoron?”, Yuui asked as the brunet neither moved nor spoke.

The brunet ran his thumb along the writing, rubbed it against Yuui's arm and watched the ink blur. They were there. The words really were there, he didn't imagine it. “You...,” he began, licking his lips that suddenly felt dry.

“I should have said something sooner,” Yuui admitted. His gaze dropped and an apologetic smile crept on his lips. “But you already let me live here and it felt like asking too much of you.”

“Idiot,” Syaoron whispered. “That's a stupid reason, really, you're paying rent and it's not like you're a freeloader. Plus, you always make dinner, so if there is anyone asking too much-”

The young man was cut off as a hand came to rest against his nape, pulling him forward into a kiss that was long overdue. Their lips met shyly, brushed against each other for just two seconds but it was enough to make Syaoron dizzy. At least for a moment, until he caught his breath and a hunger for more woke in him. He wrapped his arms around Yuui's neck and captured the soft lips once more, this time eager to make it last. That earned him a yelp, which soon turned into a chuckle. Yuui tried to put the book away, but the kitchen counter was not close enough, so in the end he dropped it carefully just for the sake of having a hand free to play with Syaoron's hair. They were so into it, that their teeth knocked against each other and they burst out into laughter.

Syaoron buried his face in the crook of Yuui's neck, liking the vibration of Yuui's voice against his skin. And his words, when he said cheerfully: “Ben will be so disappointed. Now he will have to find another poor guy to introduce to his son.”

“Ben will manage,” Syaoron promised. And even if not, he didn't care much. He was happy. And he had the chance to make Yuui happy.

“About your letter...”

“What about it.”

Yuui clucked his tongue. “I think you wrote something about a naked body sprawled out on your bed.”

A deep blush crept up his neck and cheeks. “I did, didn't I?”

“I was thinking of something quite similar, only it involved you reading to me.”

Syaoron let out an inappropriate moan and placed a sweet little kiss at Yuui's neck, telling the man that he should stop spoiling him. The idea of getting his three favorite things – Yuui, books, and playful sex – _at the same time_ was killing him. He didn't feel like he deserved it; he hadn't been a very nice boy since he turned thirteen.

But he would not complain.


End file.
